


You Make Me Do This

by questionsleftunanswered



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Riding Crop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsleftunanswered/pseuds/questionsleftunanswered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John hated now having to drive farther just to buy milk, he hated the scenes that Sherlock made in public, and he hated how people he saw on the street recognized him from one incident or another. Even more though, he loved this feeling." Meant to be paired with Always Mine, Always Yours. This can be read independently, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make Me Do This

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [YOU MAKE ME DO THIS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/911388) by [VERA_SHERLOCKED](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VERA_SHERLOCKED/pseuds/VERA_SHERLOCKED)



“Five minutes! I left you alone for five bloody minutes and we’re being escorted out. How in the hell did you manage that?”

John was livid. This was the third Tesco they had been escorted out of this month. John couldn’t believe he let Sherlock convince him, once again, that he would behave. John shouldn’t have to worry about his flatmate going out. The man was 32 years old! He should be able to handle himself in public. How foolish John had been.

“Oi! No need to be rude!” John shouted back at the sorry excuse for a policeman who was working in this particular Tesco. They were already gone, no need to made rude gestures.

John rounded on Sherlock, “What the fuck?”

Sherlock just looked down on him as though he was a nuisance that was wasting Sherlock’s time.

“I’m not kidding, Sherlock. I want a proper answer.”

“Honestly, John,” Sherlock said exasperated, “The woman had it coming to her. I was being nice. Isn’t that what you want from me? To be nice.”

“What did you tell her? I’m trying to buy us some milk and suddenly I’m being forced out of the shop.”

“Her husband was cheating on her and planning to sue her for their fortune and attempt to claim sole custody of their child. I got it a bit wrong. Apparently he was doing to divorce her because of the untimely death of the child. I’m sure his mistress had something to do with it. The divorce, not the child’s death.”

“I- No. No.” John took a deep breath and squared his shoulders in a practiced method of remaining calm and focused while under stress. “Sherlock, we’re going home.”

John turned on his heels and began walking towards Baker Street. They were about a 30 minute walk away, and John didn’t have the cash for a cab. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to sit in that tight space with Sherlock at the moment, and a walk would do him good; even if it was in the muggy London air.

Sherlock fell into step beside him. He didn’t mention getting a cab. For once, Sherlock was thankfully silent.

With each passing minute, John calmed down and released the tension that had knotted between his shoulder-blades.

They reached Baker Street and John unlocked the door.

“Mrs. Hudson! We’re back. I’m sorry I didn’t get your tea or biscuits. They were completely out,” John called. He shot Sherlock a pointed look.

Mrs. Hudson came bustling towards them, “It’s alright darling. No problem at all. I found an extra box of tea in the cupboard by the stove. Mind you, John, that door is still a tad loose. When do you think you’ll be able to fix it for me?"

“I’ll fix it tonight. Sorry it’s taken so long,” John replied.

Sherlock was already well up the stairs and inside their flat. John excused himself and went to join him.

Opening the door, John was prepared to calmly talk to Sherlock, once again, about why he can’t go about deducing people. Instead, he was cut short by the scene that was waiting for him.

Sherlock was reclining on the sofa, riding crop in hand, completely naked.

John shut the door behind him, set his coat on the arm chair, and took a seat. He waited patiently for an explanation.

“I’ve been bad, John.”

“So you have.”

“You want to punish me.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Don’t make me spell it out for you John when there are so many more important things that we could be doing.”

“Indulge me,” John said, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock adopted the voice of someone who knew what they were talking about and knew that their words were infallible.

“You’ve been thinking about using this on me since the first day I mentioned it to you at Barts. You have both a dominant and submissive side even though I’ve only ever seen the submissive in bed. Recently, you’ve been increasingly agitated with me, even things that you used to over-look. Two days ago you yelled at me for having my experiments in the fridge, even though they were adequately and visibly labeled, just as you asked. Then, just an hour ago at the Tesco-”

“Yes, Sherlock. I was there. I know what happened, and I know what I’m sure you deduced from our walk home.”

“Good, then why are we still talking.”

Sherlock stood, the riding crop held loosely in his left hand. He slapped it against his right hand and began walking towards where John was sitting.

John leaned back and rested his arms on the arm rests.

Sherlock sank to his knees in front of John. He unzipped John’s trousers. John lifted his hips as Sherlock eased them down. Pulling off his shoes and sock, Sherlock pulled John’s trousers and pants off as well. John pulled his jumpers and t-shirt over his head and tossed them aside, leaving them both completely naked.

John curved his finger under Sherlock’s chin and tilted it backwards.

“Come with me.” John said. He stood and walked towards their room, knowing that Sherlock would follow him.

Once they were both in their bedroom, John closed and locked the door. He shut the blinds, this was private and Mycroft had no business knowing.

John took a seat on the edge of the bed and gestured Sherlock to kneel in front of him.

Sherlock complied, setting the riding crop parallel with John’s thigh.

John gently stroke Sherlock’s cheek with the back of his hand; physical contrast to his verbalizations.

“You’re such a slut, aren’t you, Sherlock? You love being used by me don’t you? Tell me, what would you do to have a cock in your arse?”

Sherlock dared looking up at John, his pupils blown wide. “I would do whatever you told me to. Take what you want form me, John.”

John smirked, pleased with Sherlock’s answer. He leaned down and pressed his lips chastely against Sherlock’s.

John guided Sherlock’s head down until it was level with his groin. Sherlock took John’s still flaccid cock in his mouth. He teased it to full height. Fully hard, Sherlock could barely take all of John in. Just because John was shorter than him, didn’t mean that he was short elsewhere as well.

John’s hips jerked, pushing his length deeper into Sherlock’s mouth. The wicked things that Sherlock could do with his tongue, Lestrade should have his locked up.

John let out a tight moan, there it was. That flick of the tongue and added suction that Sherlock was an expert at.

“Sherlock, much more of this and I’ll come. Stop,” John said.

Sherlock withdrew, but not after a final lick of John’s slit.

“Fetch me the lube,” John said. He had plans for the riding crop, but not what Sherlock was expecting.

Sherlock returned with the bottle and obediently sat back at John’s feet.

“Turn around,” John ordered, “Use only one finger and prepare yourself.”

Sherlock did so. He slid lube along his middle finger and eased it inside of himself, mindful to spread his legs to give John a better view.

John lazily stroked himself and watched, “Yes, Sherlock. Put on a show for me.”

John bent down and picked up the bottle of lube. He slicked it along the handle and first few inches of the riding crop. After Sherlock was prepared, John held the crop by the opposite end and told Sherlock to withdraw his finger.

Seconds after Sherlock had complied, John rested the base of the handle against Sherlock’s hole. He pressed in until the entire handle disappeared inside the needy detective.

“Oh, god, John. _Fuck, unnggghhh_.” Sherlock said, rocking back a bit onto the intrusion.

John just pressed the riding crop in further, until it was about six inches inside Sherlock. He withdrew it only to press in again. John began to move a bit faster and brushed Sherlock’s prostate with the rounded edge of the handle.

“Do you like that, Sherlock?” John prompted.

“Uggghhnhnnn,” was his less than articulate reply.

John withdrew it fully and wiped the remainder of lube off on the sheets. He grabbed the bottle and slicked a generous amount onto his aching length, the solution mixing with the drops of pre-come that was already dripping out.

John sat back into the massive pile of pillows, resting his back against the headboard. His cock jutted up proudly from the rest of his body. John gestured Sherlock off the floor and over to him.

Sherlock eagerly climbed off on his knees only to kneel again beside John’s thigh on the bed.

John leaned forwards and stroked his hand along Sherlock’s knee, denying him the friction he needed on his cock. John knew Sherlock was painfully hard; knew that it was his.

“Do you want to be fucked and filled, Sherlock” John asked, his voice low and rough.

“God yes. Please fuck me.”

“Fuck yourself,” John said gesturing to his groin.

Sherlock quickly climbed onto John’s lap, his thighs splayed wide. He eased himself down onto John’s cock. Sherlock started slowly, but John was impatient. He gripped Sherlock’s hips and pushed fully inside. John earned a moan of satisfaction, not realizing that it was mirrored in his own voice.

John released Sherlock and settled back down, Sherlock sitting fully impaled in his lap.

Sherlock began to move up and down along John’s length, arms braced on the headboard on either side of John’s head.

From this position, John could see every muscle in Sherlock’s body working, aching. He had a sudden urge and leaned forwards and licked the sweat that was shining on Sherlock’s neck.

John reached between them and began vigorously pumping Sherlock’s length.

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to tighten and come across John’s chest, a rope of come reaching John’s clavicle. Sherlock dipped his head and sucked that single string up, his tongue flicking expertly across John’s skin.

John gripped Sherlock’s hips and drew him up and down until he too came.

Sherlock love the feeling of John’s come, the ease with which John pulled out. The way was eased by the slick semen.

Sherlock began cleaning up the mess that he had made on John, knowing how much John hated a mess. His lips were painted with his own come the way lipstick would smear after a snog.

John pulled him in for a kiss, a bruising affair with the taste of blood and come.

They lay contented in the heated sheets with the light from the sinking day blocked out by the heavy shades.

John hated now having to drive farther just to buy milk, he hated the scenes that Sherlock made in public, and he hated how people he saw on the street recognized him form one incident or another. Even more though, he loved this feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters are mine. They are property of the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.


End file.
